


Origami

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Break Up, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-23
Updated: 2007-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is left after Ryan leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origami

 

 

The day Ryan gave up on Colin, he left their bed early morning, momentarily stuck deciding between "I'm sorry" or "I love you" or "wish we could have been the heroes of our own life" to end it with, hand hovering over a blank piece of paper on the nightstand. He had known he couldn’t use any of those, so he just wrote in small, black handwriting, and hoped Colin would understand, “You meant the world to me.”

When Colin woke he read the note placed on his pillow, eyes flickering over the tiny, definite words again and again, and paled. 

When his hands started shaking so badly he dropped it, the piece of paper floated, drifted like an origami bird towards the blue carpeted floor. 

And when Greg, hours later, opened the door and picked up the note like he belonged in that room, that moment, (he didn’t, not yet) Colin didn’t have the heart to say no. 

They didn’t cry together, exactly, as much as lay silently, and listen to the faint hum of the air-conditioning, the ticking of Greg’s watch, the rustling as one of them moved to break the slow and twisting absence of sound. 

Greg never stopped holding the note, his hands folding it and twisting it until the words became unreadable and the paper brittle, faint ink stains on his fingers and, later, on Colin’s stomach. 

And Colin never closed his eyes; he let his gaze wander over Greg’s bare shoulder, his hands, imagining the frayed piece of paper to get ripped to pieces, to be scattered around their bed, mashed between them as they moved, erasing the entire day so they could be whole again, (or maybe something close to it).

 

 

 

 


End file.
